


Kneel Before . . . Stiles?

by LapfulofMisha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek didn't leave with Cora, Erica and Boyd are alive, M/M, Mates, Minor Character Death, Pack Dynamics, Peter is the alpha, Stiles is 20, WIP, end of Season 3a, were!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapfulofMisha/pseuds/LapfulofMisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't want the bite.<br/>Peter turns him anyway.</p><p>Stiles sort of accidentally kills Peter and finds himself the alpha of the Hale Pack.</p><p>His timing sucks.</p><p>Derek has to help Stiles find a way to save them all from the latest threat to Beacon Hills, which is a supernatural cult that is capturing and brainwashing weres and witches.   Cause Stiles doesn't have a clue how to be an alpha.</p><p>Derek's solution may or may not involve mating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the Beginning

The late afternoon sun scattered orange and gold beams through the trees, casting shadows and creating extra hiding places.  Stiles found a fallen tree and crawled behind it, ignoring the bugs that undoubtedly lurked in the underbrush.  Squatting, he peered uselessly into the woods for pursuers, despite the fact that their supernatural abilities allowed them to conceal themselves from him easily.

Stiles was the only human present for this little exercise, and while he understood the need for training, especially now, he knew he stood at a huge disadvantage.  His desperate attempts to calm his breathing and pounding heart were failing miserably.  He might as well have been holding up a huge beacon over his head that flashed "I'm over here!" The few seconds he'd allowed himself to rest and recover could prove lethal if this had been a real fight.  He had to get moving again.

Knowing he could never outrun the werewolves, and having his own body betray his location simply by _functioning_ , he decided his best chance would be to shock the hell out of whoever found him first. Buying himself a few seconds in an actual attack could make the difference between death and survival, if it allowed someone to get to him and help him.  

Erica shot past him, perceptible only as a swish and a shadow to his human ears and eyes.  He tore off his shirt, and as she reappeared and charged at him, he flung the shirt up with both hands and managed to wrap it around her face and head.  She faltered a bit before clawing the shirt to shreds, and Stiles grinned triumphantly, enjoying his success for the 1.7 seconds it lasted.

Another swoosh, from behind him this time, barely registered in his subconscious before a shockingly large, strong hand reached around and covered his mouth and nose.  The werewolf's other arm entangled both of Stiles' arms in a single, implausible movement, and he was dragged over backwards onto the ground.  
  


He came down hard, landing in the dirt with a _thud,_ bending back his left wrist at a fairly impossible angle and yelling furiously into the hand that still covered his mouth.

"You're dead," Derek said flatly, releasing his hold on Stiles, and not seeming to notice that Stiles' fingers were shaking and slowly turning purple.

"Oh my GOD, like I have a chance in hell against you anyway!" Stiles shouted disgustedly. He examined his wrist, willing his fingers to move. They trembled, but nothing more.  "You broke my arm, are you satisfied now?"

Erica stood a few feet away from them, somehow managing to smirk and still look completely hot at the same time.  " _I_ didn't hear anything break," she taunted.

"Whining won't keep you alive against the Carlisle pack, Stiles. In fact, if they're as smart as everyone says they are, I'm pretty sure they'll come after you _first_ , just to get some peace and quiet."

"Tsk, tsk," Peter chided, appearing from out of nowhere.  "Stiles can't help it that he's only human." He paused dramatically, pretending that something just occurred to him. "Actually, now that I think about it, Stiles, there _is_ a way to remedy that particular weakness of yours." Peter moved closer, the smile and all traces of teasing leaving his demeanor instantly, his eyes flashing red for a brief instant, his voice becoming eerily soft. "Let me bite you. For your own safety."

Derek stepped in between the two of them, glaring at Peter, a low growl rumbling deep within him. There was no question that Peter would have to get through Derek to bite Stiles.

Peter's face partially transformed into a terrifying blur of fangs and more fangs as he grabbed Derek with his clawed-out hand and tossed him backward out of the way.  His roar was deep enough to shake the ground. 

Without getting up or looking the alpha in the eye, Derek slowly bit out, "Stiles doesn't want the bite."

Stiles couldn't help but be confused by this turn of events.  One minute Derek was trying to kill him, the next minute he was defending him. Okay, so he wasn't _actually_ trying to kill him, not technically, but he seemed to enjoy dragging Stiles helplessly to the ground just a little bit more than was healthy or necessary. 

The really disturbing part was the deep twinge of hurt he felt on Derek's behalf. Being forced to bow helplessly to his nutbag uncle, still feeling the need to protect those that had been his pack even though he was no longer their alpha, and suffering the powerlessness and humiliation of being Peter's beta; Stiles read those feelings off of Derek like they were plastered across a billboard.

 _Fuck my life_ , he cursed to himself.

The pain in his wrist became steadily more unbearable. Peter's face had returned to normal, and he stared curiously at Stiles with his eyes slightly narrowed. "That pain would go away, you know. You won't be much use to anyone with only one functioning arm."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much use to anyone anyway, according to all of you. So I'll just stay useless, thanks." Stiles figured he was entitled to a little self pity, after the day he'd had. That, and the fact that Derek _broke his arm_. Sort of accidentally, but still. Where the hell was Scott when he needed him, anyway?

Peter sighed. "It's for your own good, you know. The Carlisles are going to come after you, because human or not, you're one of us. They'll turn you the minute they get their hands on your lovely little neck." He punctuated the statement by gently caressing Stiles' shoulder, his fingers tracing lightly up his neck and onto his cheek. Stiles pulled away, revulsion rippling through him.

Derek growled again, without looking at Peter this time. Erica laughed.

"This has been a lot of fun and all," Stiles said sarcastically, backing away from all of them, "but I need to go to the hospital now, so if you'll excuse me . . ." He spun around, cringing and sucking in a breath at the sharp pain stabbing through his arm.

"Think about what I said, Stiles," Peter called after him as he walked off toward his Jeep.

XOXOXO

Stiles spent a total of 4 1/2 hours in the emergency room. He'd told the nurse (who unfortunately wasn't Mrs. McCall) that he'd been walking in the woods, had tripped over a stump, and fell backwards onto his arm. Although the story sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, they'd bought it hook, line and sinker.

They had no reason not to.

After taking X-rays, stabilizing his wrist in a brace, and admonishing him to be more careful, the doctor gave him a bottle of painkillers (which he could take _after_ driving himself home) and sent him on his way.

Darkness hovered over Beacon Hills as Stiles climbed into his Jeep in the hospital parking lot. He wondered if he was just imagining it, or if the looming threat of the approaching Carlisle pack had become a tangible entity that filled the night with its dismal presence.  Peter had not been very forthcoming with information about the pack. All Stiles knew was that they were snatching up entire packs and brainwashing them to do their will. And apparently, their will was to recruit as many witches and werewolves into their group as possible.  

Stiles had several unread texts on his phone, presumably from packmates who were concerned about his injury. He would respond to them once he got home; right now he just needed to get into his own bed and down a couple of the pills the doctor had given him.

His plans did not include finding a werewolf waiting for him at his front door. 

"Hello, Stiles," Peter greeted him in his eerie, ethereal voice. "That doesn't look so good," he added, indicating Stiles' arm.

Stiles wasn't sure how Peter managed to blend into the shadows so well. It seemed as if he himself emitted darkness. 

"It's fine. What are you doing here? Where's the rest of the pack?"

He smiled, which gave Stiles the creeps. "I wanted to speak with you alone." He stepped out away from the cover of the house, into Stiles' line of sight. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Stiles sorted through his keys with his long, agile fingers and located the one that would open his front door. "I don't know. Inviting Evil to come inside never turns out well in horror movies."

Peter rolled his eyes. "That hurts, coming from you. Especially since I'm so concerned for your . . . wellbeing. Not everyone has an alpha to look out for them, you know."

Stiles snorted. "I just spent half the night in the emergency room. Can't say you're doing a very good job."

"Don't worry," Peter purred. "Derek has been punished for what he did to you."

Stiles froze, his key hanging in midair on its way to the door, as ice filled his veins.

"What did you do to him?"he asked, trying to sound curious rather than terrified. 

"Honestly, Stiles, the way the two of you carry on about each other! If I didn't know better . . ." He eyed Stiles with interest, then let his thought trail off, shaking his head. "But that's not why I'm here. Let's go inside, shall we?"

Sighing, anxious to find out what Peter wanted and then get rid of him, Stiles opened the door and went inside. He flipped on light switches, hoping the light would help ddrive away the creepiness he always felt every time Peter was around. 

"Let me just get to the point. You're the weakest link, Stiles."

"Thanks, asshole."

"My point is, you could be great. If you'd only let me-"

"I don't want the bite, Peter! How many languages do you want me to say it in?" He grew very tired of this argument.

He wasn't yet aware of the danger he was in.

"Yes, you do. Your heartbeat doesn't lie, even if your mouth does."

Stiles recoiled. Okay, so maybe he wouldn't mind the speed, the strength, and the supernatural senses. He'd seen enough people get hurt, and he wished he could protect his friends. But he didn't want to belong to Peter. He ddin't want to be a monster.

"I need to go to bed now. It's been kind of a long day -"

Without warning, Peter was on top of him. 

Biting him. 

Turning him. 

Stiles fell to the ground, agony coursing through him. Every sensation became unbearable. The light pierced his eyes like thousands of tiny stabbing swords, the carpet scratched mercilessly against his skin, the sound of the heater warming the house rumbled like a freight train between his ears. 

His head filled with unbelievably vibrant colors, some of which didn't even have names. He felt his blood pumping through each individual vein and vessel. Every single hair on his head felt alive, every cell in his body felt like an individual being. 

He felt another presence in his head with him, and he screamed. 

Somewhere amid the chaos, Peter was speaking to him, but Stiles couldn't understand him, couldn't filter out his words from every other sound bombarding him. Somehow his mind latched onto his father, and Stiles felt overwhelming, stifling regret and disappointment. His dad would be furious.

 _Stiles_ was furious.

Fury radiated throughout his body, into every bone and muscle, his adrenaline reaching shockingly high levels. Peter had stolen his humanity, had ripped it away like it was nothing, like it didn't matter. He hadn't liked Stiles' choice, so he'd forced his will on him anyway. Stiles felt violated. The rage filling him demanded retribution. 

The other presence sharing his mind ( _my wolf_ , Stiles realized with horrified fascination) felt drawn to Peter, but fought against the urge to go to him, trepidation apparently overruling instinct, which told Stiles everything he needed to know. 

Peter barely even registered a look of surprise when Stiles got up and pounced on him. Peter deflected him easily, laughing and chiding, "Really, Stiles? I expected more from you."

Instinct led Stiles to run into the kitchen, where his unwashed dishes were soaking in a sink full of water. He stopped in front of the sink, daring Peter to come at him. 

Peter did.

As he grabbed for Stiles' neck, the new werewolf ducked, and with a fluid grace he'd never experienced before, slipped out and around Peter, pushing his attacker's head down into the sink and holding it there with all his strength.  

For good measure, he slid the toaster off the counter into the water, letting go of Peter just as the still-plugged-in appliance hit the surface of the water.

 

 


	2. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott, Stiles and Derek deal with their new situation . . . Derek tells Stiles his plan for the two of them, but it is not without risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: OOC, scent-marking

This was bad.

Like, on a scale of one to Gerard Argent . . . this was _bad_.

For starters, Peter Hale’s dead body lay in the middle of Stiles’ kitchen, freshly drowned and electrocuted. Add to that the fact that Stiles was now a werewolf, and this truly had to rank as pretty much the worst day of his life. Which was truly saying something.

The overwhelming onslaught of sensations flooding through his newly werewolf-ified body gradually became more tolerable. Stiles felt remarkably calm and in control, all things considered, and he felt strength and energy pulsing through him.

His arm no longer hurt. He tentatively took the brace off and flexed his fingers a few times. He had completely healed. He went into the bathroom and cautiously looked in the mirror. There was nothing too shocking about the reflection sharing back at him: soft brown hair sticking up at all sorts of odd angles, creamy skin flecked with delicate little moles, bright, red ruby eyes . . .

Oh _god_.

Peter was an alpha. Peter was _the_ alpha, _his_ alpha, and Stiles killed him, which meant . . .

 _Stiles was now the_ _alpha_.

He braced himself for the inevitable panic attack, but it never came. Slowly, he opened his mouth. Holy _hell_ , those were fangs.

 _Scott._ He needed his best friend, more than ever. He’d gone through this exact same thing. Well, almost. Scott had gone to Allison’s (which is why they had both missed out on the training exercise that afternoon). Stiles realized he knew Scott was still at Allison’s house, in the same way he knew the sun would come up in the morning. He headed there without a second thought.

XOXOXOXO

Standing outside Allison’s house in the dark, Stiles looked up at the second floor window, the only one in the house that was still lit up. He didn’t have to strain his hearing to know what they were doing. They were _loud_. Fortunately, her parents were gone (Stiles only heard Scott and Allison’s hearts beating.) With no hesitation at all, he scaled the side of the house and propelled himself through the open window.

“Jeez, you guys, put some clothes on!” Stiles told them irritably. 

Scott had frozen, in the middle of sucking a hickey into Allison’s neck, as soon as he’d heard Stiles hit the side of the house. He was now staring at him openly with shock and horror. And reverence and awe. “Dude, what the – How did you – Where’s - You’re – When did you-?“

“Yes, all of those,” Stiles snapped impatiently. “I need to talk to you, alone, right now.”

Scott turned to Allison. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He hopped out of bed and grabbed his clothes up off the floor, dressing quickly.

“Wait, what?” she asked, looking flustered. “What’s going on? Scott, you – you’re leaving? Now?”

“I have to go. I’ll explain later. Love you!” He kissed her cheek, then followed his new alpha out of Allison’s house.

XOXOXOXOXO

“So where is Peter’s body now?” Scott asked. They were driving back toward Stiles’ house as Scott tried to process everything that had happened to his best friend since he’d last seen him.

“In my kitchen. Next to a bag of potatoes on the floor.”

“Holy _crap_ , dude, we need to tell Derek.”

Stiles gripped the steering wheel hard enough to crack it, without even noticing. Telling Derek he’d killed his uncle was likely to end with Stiles being slammed into a hard, unyielding surface.

“Um, yeah. Because I have a death wish. How do you think that conversation’s going to go, Scott?  Hey, Derek, guess what? I took care of that pesky, undead - uncle - problem of yours . . . no thanks necessary, dude.”

Scott rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.  As it turned out, he didn’t need to.

For the second time that night, a werewolf was waiting for Stiles when he reached his house. Derek didn’t wait around on the porch for Stiles, however. By the time Stiles swung his Jeep’s door shut, Derek had him pinned against it. Things didn’t quite go the way Stiles had envisioned them, however. Some part of Stiles’ brain informed him that he was powerful enough to push Derek off, but, truth be told, he didn’t want to. The new part of him, the wolf, craved the contact.

Before he really had a chance to delve into that thought too much, Derek began sniffing him. His blue eyes shown brightly in the darkness, and Stiles felt his fangs brush lightly against the skin on his neck. Derek held him close, but not in a menacing way. This felt intimate, protective . . . and ridiculously hot. Stiles grabbed Derek’s face, more roughly than he’d intended (supernatural strength, what the hell) and rubbed against his stubbly cheek, the wolf needing to mark his beta. Derek rumbled like a giant purring cat.

Scott lost his nut.

“ _Guys_! What the hell! Don’t do that in the middle of the street! Actually, _don’t do that at all!_ ” He shuddered. “Have you forgotten all the shit that’s going down right now? The Carlisle pack? The fact that Stiles is now the friggin’ _alpha_? The dead body hanging out in his kitchen?”

Stiles pushed Derek off of him, noticing with fascination that being an alpha apparently had certain  . . . unexpected perks. For starters, he was hard as a titanium pole, and he was pretty sure the XXL condom he still had from his almost-sexual encounter might not be big enough. And he really wanted to find out, right now.

With Derek Hale.

Stiles understood on some level that the wolf was, in fact, a variation of himself. All the times that he’d secretly fantasized about Derek, the guilty daydreams he’d had about rough foreplay with the guy, the times he’d wanted to just cuddle with him . . . the wolf in him embraced all of it, but without Stiles’ propensity to hold back. Thankfully for all concerned, the moon was just a silver crescent slice in the sky. Stiles didn’t totally transform, but still surrendered to the wolf’s urges and grabbed Derek back to push against him, biting lightly into his shoulder.

Derek moaned softly, wrapping one hand around Stiles’ waist and running the other through the fluffy brown hair.

“Oh my _god_!” Scott shrieked. “Why don’t we just invite every hunter in the area over for tea? You can’t do this in public!”

Scott’s warning registered with Derek, at least, and he tried to extricate himself from Stiles.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek like steel bands and clung to him, burying his face in Derek’s neck.

“A little help here, Scott?” Derek sounded irritated, and Stiles pulled back immediately, hurt, misunderstanding his frustration. It had the effect of sobering him up instantly. Stiles blinked, trying to return his eyes to brown, as Scott and Derek grabbed him and hauled him inside.

XOXOXOXO

The three of them transported Peter’s body to the old Hale house, and buried him deep in the woods, surrounded by a circle of wolf’s bane. Derek didn’t say a word the entire time, and Stiles almost wished he would yell at him. He was tired of Derek’s famous emotional constipation. He wanted to know if he was angry, or relieved, or torn apart by burying yet another family member.

Stiles stopped to wonder where the profound concern for Derek’s feelings came from. He decided maybe it was an alpha thing, and tucked the question away for a more appropriate time.

The three of them ended up back at Derek’s loft.

“So, we need to talk about some things,” Derek began. They all sat on his couch, Derek and Scott on the ends, Stiles in the middle. Derek had his arm casually thrown around Stiles’ shoulders. Scott stared at it like it was a snake that might bite him.  “For starters, the Carlisles will hear about Peter’s death, and know we have a new alpha, and look on that as a weakness.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “From what I’ve heard lately, they are biting the witches they capture. Some of them turn, some of them don’t.  There isn’t much information about what happens to them. As for the wolves they capture, they’re brainwashing them somehow. They’re convincing them to abandon their own packs and join them. They’ve been successful with all of the betas and omegas.  They haven’t had any luck with the alphas, so far as I’ve heard, but . . .”

He paused, looking at Stiles with dread shadowing his face.

“But what?” Stiles and Scott both asked impatiently.

“But they keep trying. So far every alpha has been seriously, permanently injured or killed.” He looked guiltily at Stiles, like it was his own personal fault, and Stiles marveled at the fact that he’d seen at least three different expressions on Derek’s face in less than an hour.

“Well, don’t sugar coat it,” Stiles grumbled, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “What the hell am I supposed to do?  How am I supposed to protect the pack when those crazy bastards show up in Beacon Hills?” He suddenly felt angrier than he’d ever been in his life. Rage and indignation welled up in him and he leapt off the couch.

“I shouldn’t have to do this! I shouldn’t have to deal with this!  This should be Peter’s problem! I don’t know anything about leading werewolves! I don’t know anything that can help us fight them off!” Without realizing it, he had picked up a large book off the coffee table and ripped it to shreds.

Derek was at his side in an instant, grabbing hold of his arms and holding him still. Scott approached them warily. “No, you shouldn’t have to do this, but life isn’t fair, Stiles, so you better start dealing with it.” Scott looked to Derek for support, but he stood silently, stoically, intent on keeping Stiles from destroying any more of his few remaining possessions.

Scott sighed. “Look, Derek was an alpha, even if he wasn’t a very good one.” This at least elicited a raised eyebrow from him, and Scott continued. “He can help you work through this. He can guide you.”

“Gee, that’s great. He can guide me right into my horrible death at the hands of these Carlisle people. Not to mention what will happen to all of you.”

He struggled briefly against Derek’s hold on him, but not very much, because he didn’t really want to get away from him, and _how had this become his life, exactly_?

Sighing, he mumbled, “What I need is strength, control, the ability and knowledge to do this whole werewolf thing as if I’ve always been doing it. Because I’m not going to let anyone get sucked up into that psychotic group of freaks!” He was shocked at the fierce protectiveness he felt for all of them, and it occurred to him that this must be what his parents had felt toward him.  He squeezed his eyes shut and would have fallen to the ground if Derek hadn’t still been holding onto him. The memory of his mom and dad welled up strongly and suddenly, and he nearly lost himself in a zone of harsh pain.

“Stiles,” Derek called to him hesitantly, bringing him back from the dark place he’d slipped into. “There is a way for you to become stronger, a way for you to learn how to channel your aggression and control your wolf so you aren’t out of control on the full moon.” He glanced over at Scott, who looked back at him, horrified, as he realized what Derek was proposing. Derek continued. “There’s a way for you to know everything I know, when you need to know it.”

Stiles was staring at him with disbelief and curiosity. “Is it painful?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then sign me up! What are we waiting for?”

Scott groaned and Derek looked flustered. _Flustered_.

“Uh, Scott, could you give the two of us a chance to talk alone?”

“Not a chance!” he growled back, his eyes turning vibrant yellow.

“Uh, why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?” Stiles queried. Derek had stepped back from him and was facing Scott, tension building up palpably in his body.

“There has to be another solution,” Scott addressed Derek, ignoring Stiles.

“I’m all ears.”

“Guys!” Stiles yelled, and was shocked at the rumbling, echoing quality of his voice. “Look, Scott, it’s okay.  If there’s a solution, I need to consider it. Besides, uh, Allison is probably anxious for you to get back there?”

Scott considered this briefly, a grin slowly pulling at the corner of his lips. “You know if you need me, I’ll be back in a heartbeat, right?”

“I know, Scott.  I’ll be fine.”

“Uh, I guess, goodnight then.” He glowered once more at Derek before leaving the loft.

Stiles turned to Derek, and was struck once again by how much his wolf wanted him. Well, maybe not just the wolf. But this was hardly the time to be noticing his gorgeous, haunting hazel-green eyes, or the way his muscles stretched and rippled under his thin dark grey t-shirt, or the dark hair tousled softly over his forehead, or the stubble dotting his face that would feel raspy and rough against his chest-

“Stiles? Come over and sit on the bed with me.  We need to talk.”

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, he followed Derek to the bed and plopped down next to him, sitting close enough that he was lightly brushing against his hips.

“What was Scott so upset about? What is this mysterious option for making me into a super-alpha?”

Derek sucked in a breath, then collected himself and answered, “We could bond.”

“Bond? You mean, like, _mate_?” His wolf leapt up in eager anticipation of claiming Derek. Stiles didn’t bother trying to control it.

“Bonding is more than mating. Mating is part of it, but, if we bond, our minds, our feelings, our personalities . . . everything will be shared between us. We would be inextricably connected. You would share all of my knowledge, and memories, and I would share yours. We would also be able to share strength. It would give us a chance to overpower them and keep them away from our pack. From the rumors I’ve been hearing, it’s how _they_ have become so powerful.”

“So, it’s kind of like opening a telepathic channel between our brains, is that it? Is that something werewolves normally do? Have Scott and Allison done that?” Stiles wasn’t sure if he was excited or horrified by such a prospect.

“It can only be done between two wolves, and it is extremely rare, because of the permanent nature of the connection. We would be mated, bound together, forever. But we would also grow to be very powerful. I believe it’s the only way we stand a chance of fighting them off and protecting our territory.”

Derek was no longer looking at Stiles; he seemed to have developed an intense fascination with his own feet, because he was staring at them like they were the most important things on earth.

Stiles studied the stress that was etched into his face; the way his eyebrows curved sharply downward as he frowned, the way he sucked his lips into his mouth, the crinkles bunching up around his narrowed eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

Derek glanced up and finally met Stiles’ eyes. Sighing, he replied, “Since I’m no longer an alpha, and because your control is shaky at best, there would be some risks.”

“What kind of risks?”

“The risk of you completely overpowering my mind. You could absorb me so far into yourself that I would basically spend the rest of my life in a coma.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Giving in to the wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns a thing or two about his wolf's desires . . . the pack decides to take action against their new enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this originally was intended to be one long chapter, but instead it will be split up into two shorter ones. New tags - #biting and #made up other characters. I'm getting busy at work with quarter end but I will try to have the next chapter up by next weekend!  
> Thanks for reading and commenting! XOXOXO

_Holy hell_ , the very thought of mating with Derek, not to mention _bonding,_ was enough to get Stiles’ dick pushing against his jeans in protest of its confinement. The intimacy, the complete and total openness they would experience . . . the absolute _togetherness,_ not to mention the direct access to every bit of knowledge Derek held in his brain regarding werewolves. Stiles ached to be that close to Derek, but the risks . . .

He would never agree to mate or bond under these circumstances. Deep inside, he felt it would be wrong somehow.  Instinctively, he knew they shouldn’t bond unless they were both in love.  Bonding was too serious, too sacred.

“I can’t do it, Derek. Not like this.”

Derek growled. “It’s the only way I know of to help you.”

“Then let’s hope I can think of something else!” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek sighed, then moved closer to Stiles. “Look, I know I’m not exactly your dream mate,” he began, and _was he even being serious right now?_ “But if we’re all dead, or worse, if we’re all brainwashed zombie minions, then it’s not gonna matter much anyway!”

Stiles felt like a knife was carving his heart like a Halloween pumpkin.

“We’ll just have to find another way,” he said softly.

“There is no other way,” Derek grumbled, and Stiles tried to ignore the broken expression on his face.

“I said I can’t! Let it go!”  With nothing else to offer, Stiles left the loft.

XOXOXO

He stopped at the gas station and was filling the Jeep’s gas tank when he heard someone walking up behind him.

“It’s Stiles, isn’t it?” said a melodic female voice.

He whipped around and found himself eye to eye with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.  Actually, make that _weregirl_. He could sense her wolf.

She had curly, flaming red hair that hung to her waist and large, greenish yellow eyes.

Her smiling, soft pink lips lit up Stiles’ insides as she tilted her head, exposing her neck in a gesture of submission.

“My name is Alana. I’ve come to ask for your help. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

Stiles agreed willingly, completely enchanted by the girl’s beauty.

“Yeah! Um, yes! I don’t live far from here, we can go to my house.”

He knew Derek would kill him for inviting a stranger to his home, his _den_.  But he trusted her in any case, as if he’d known her all his life.

XOXOXO

They sat facing each other across the dining room table. Alana looked terribly distressed, and Stiles’ stomach turned at the thought of her being in pain.

“So what exactly do you need my – _our_ help with?”

Her eyes dropped and she replied, “My pack has been torn apart. I am the only one left, the only one who escaped.”

“Torn apart how? What did you escape from?” Stiles leaned forward on the table.

“It was another pack, invading our city.  I think they called themselves . . .” she paused, rubbing a finger across her lips. She looked up at Stiles. “the Carlisles.  Yes, that was it.”

Stiles sank back into his chair. _Of course_. They were getting closer, and it was only a matter of time until they reached Beacon Hills. Stiles needed to get as much information as possible if he was going to have any chance of saving his pack.

“Tell me exactly what happened. Every detail,” he implored. Stiles was a bit surprised to hear the authority in his own voice, but the alpha instinct to protect was taking over.

“We were patrolling our territory. Dallen, one of our betas, went to check out an unusual smell, a stranger that wasn’t supposed to be there. Another werewolf. There were only five of us, Stiles.  I was the only one who escaped. It was a trap and we walked right into it.”

“How did they capture you?”

“I . . .  I don’t know.  I think – I think they hit me over the head,” she stammered.  “I woke up and I was alone and I had an opportunity so I ran.  I never saw the others.”

"How many of them were there?" Stiles asked.

She appeared to comtemplate. "Maybe eight or ten.  But there were more somewhere else, in a headquarters. I heard them talking about it while I was drifting in and out of consciousness."

"Did they say where the headquarters was located?"

She sighed heavily. "I told you, I ran as soon as I woke up. I know nothing more. Just that they have the people I care about! Will you help me or not?"

Stiles looked at her, and every instinct wanted to protect her. She looked so beautiful and fragile, it made him feel fuzzy inside. "I uh, I need to talk to my pack.  How can I get a hold of you?"

She smiled.  "I'll give you my number."

XOXOXO

Stiles summoned the pack to his house via cellphone. He was a little uncertain as to whether or not they would actually show up, and he was seriously relieved (and a little proud of himself) when they all did. The whole alpha power thing was still new and confusing to Stiles, but as they all sat around in his living room, looking at him expectantly, he suddenly felt a surge of confidence, and he began relaying Alana’s story and plea for help.

Derek was immediately skeptical. No surprise there.

“What makes you think you can trust some random werewolf you met at a gas station?”

“It wasn’t random,” Stiles responded. “She sought me out.”

“Even creepier.”

“Yeah, but what if it were one of us asking for help?” Scott interjected.

 _Bless you_ , thought Stiles as Scott continued, “I mean, what if _our_ whole pack was in mortal danger and no one would help?”

“If we help her save her pack, maybe we could become allies. Maybe they could help us keep the Carlisles away from Beacon Hills,” Boyd suggested.

Derek turned on him. “Have you forgotten it’s the Carlisles that attacked her pack, and her pack are the ones who _lost_?” His words dripped with sarcasm, and Boyd shrugged.

“Strength in numbers, man, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Helping them would be suicidal. Especially without a strong alpha,” Derek added bitterly.

Something inside Stiles snapped at that.

He charged Derek.

With strength that surprised even him, he tackled Derek at the waist, and they both hit the floor with a solid thump. Had Stiles not been so furious, he would have found the shocked look on Derek’s face comical. He grabbed Derek’s wrists and pinned them above his head while he straddled him.

Alpha strength or not, Derek was 200 pounds of solid muscle, and he bucked Stiles off like a pissed off bronco. He rolled on the carpet toward Stiles, who recovered just in time to leap out of the way, then jump on Derek’s back and pin him again.

Derek pushed himself off the floor, and Stiles clung to him, wrapping himself around Derek so tightly that Derek couldn’t get a hold of him, or hit him or even pry him off.

Stiles bit his neck.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it, but his wolf had demanded it, and it seemed right, although he couldn’t recall ever seeing any other wolves do it.

Derek growled at him but loosened his grip, and Stiles in return let go of him.

“If you’re done doubting my _strength_ , then let’s make a plan and get on with it.” Stiles felt like a jerk for the display of aggression, but his wolf was as content as he’d ever been.

Stiles looked around at the betas scattered about this living room. He failed to understand why they were staring at him in shock. Then Scott said, “Dude! You look awesome!”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles grumbled.

Grinning from ear to ear, Scott whisked him into the bathroom and practically shoved his face into the mirror.

Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d wolfed out. He recognized the fangs and ruby colored eyes; he’d seen those right after Peter bit him. But the hair . . . his face was furry . . . much furrier than Scott’s or Derek’s when they transformed. Slowly, before his own eyes, he relaxed and shifted back.

“We’ve got to help Alana. I just _feel_ it. She needs us. Her _pack_ needs us."

“I know, man. I’m behind you all the way.” Scott smiled at Stiles and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s figure out a plan.”


	4. Meet and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets everyone together to plan the rescue of Alana's pack. Everything goes south from there. Then it gets worse.

The whole Let’s Figure Out A Plan To Save Alana’s Pack process didn’t exactly go down the way Stiles had hoped. He honestly felt a little shocked, if not betrayed, by how much they all argued with him, as if they’d suddenly stopped trusting him. As if he hadn’t personally saved each and every one of them from horrific, painful death (or worse) at some point in their past.

His first major opposition came from Derek, when Stiles announced that he wanted everyone to meet at the loft.

“Are you insane?” Derek squalled, practically glaring a hole through Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked, exasperated, throwing his hands up in frustration. “There’s more room at your place than mine.”

“It’s bad enough a strange werewolf has seen where _you_ live. Now you want to invite her to my place?” Derek scowled at him. “No way.”

Stiles meant to groan, but instead (to even his own surprise) released an irritated rumbling growl. “It’s not like she’s a mass murderer!  She’s just a girl who needs help! Just because _you_ have trust issues doesn’t mean the rest of the world is emotionally brain damaged.”

Derek’s flinch was barely noticeable, but it was enough to stop Stiles’ tirade. He sighed. “Derek –“

Allison intervened at this point. Looking at Derek through dark eyes, the young hunter announced, “Don’t worry. If she tries anything, I’ll have it covered.”

“She’s not going to try anything!” Stiles wailed, without really stopping to wonder why he so adamantly defended someone he barely knew. He ignored the way Scott was scrutinizing him, and the knowing look Jackson and Lydia exchanged. He just wanted to get _on_ with it, help the other pack. Time was running out. He sighed and sunk back against the wall.

XOXO

The meeting itself, which had been held the following evening, was a barely contained frenzy of arguing and near chaos. Alana sat disconcertingly close to Stiles and didn’t seem at all alarmed that the potential saviors of her pack were in a state of near upheaval.  Stiles admired her calmness and strength, but all the noise from everyone arguing was about to drive him crazy.  He hadn’t entirely figured out how to dial down the werewolf senses yet.

And so, red eyes suddenly blazing, he raised his head and howled, a sound so low and deep it vibrated the glass in the windows. “Everyone stop arguing! I’ve already thought this out.” They all turned to him, astonishment evident on their faces. “Look, the Carlisle pack obviously favors direct attacks. They have large enough numbers that they don’t have to worry about stealth. That’s how they kidnapped Alana’s pack mates.”

He paused to look at her with sympathy while Derek scowled at them both and Isaac rolled his eyes.

“We’ll sneak into the area where they’re keeping their prisoners and release them first. Then -”

“I thought _Alana_ couldn’t remember where she escaped from. How will we find them?” Derek spoke her name like the word itself might poison him.

Stiles looked temporarily confused, but Alana quickly responded, “After the initial . . . terror of what happened wore off, I was able to relax and remember some details. They’re not far at all from here.” She smiled sweetly at Derek, who simply stared back at her.

Jackson theatrically sniffed the air and mumbled, “Anyone else smell that?”

 Lydia shoved her elbow into his stomach as Boyd and Erica smirked.

“How could you possibly _relax_ if you knew your pack was in danger?” Derek challenged.

Stiles shook his head as if trying to clear it, then jumped to her defense. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant. Look, let’s just get on with it!  Here’s the plan.”

Stiles proceeded to lay out what was arguably a well thought out, detailed rescue plan, then looked around at everyone.  They stared back in silence. He wanted their approval, no point in denying it. But he would settle for cooperation. Finally, Derek spoke.

“That seems a little . . . structured, don’t you think?”

Boyd agreed. “A lot of things will have to go exactly right for all of that to work. If the timing is off, even a little . . . “

“But it won’t be!” Stiles sounded whiny, even to his own ears, but he was really growing tired of the constant opposition.

Before anyone could offer more resistance, Alana’s phone chimed. In a grand display, she pulled it from her pocket, looked at it, then tapped out a text. Standing up, she announced, “I have something urgent to attend to. But I want to thank you all for helping us.” She smiled pointedly at each of them, her attention lingering the longest on Derek. She seemed to be appraising him. “I promise you’ll be rewarded for your actions.”

This comment, meant to pique their interest, actually succeeded in making most of them _more_ skeptical.

Turning to Stiles, she said authoritatively, “we’ll meet in the designated area around 9 o’clock tomorrow.”

Stiles nodded, obviously enamored with her, then shook himself out of it as she went out the door.

“Stiles, can I talk to you alone?” Lydia tilted her head at him. He glanced at Derek, seeking his permission; he didn’t want to further anger him by assuming he had the run of the loft. Derek raised his eyebrows and shrugged, motioning up the stairs.

Once Lydia was alone with him, she put her hands on his shoulders, and dug her fingers into him.

“Stiles, are you feeling okay?”

“Of course? Werewolf healing, you know, I’m healthier than I’ve ever been . . .” he looked at her questioningly. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re acting a little . . . weird.” She hesitated. “You’re acting a _lot_ weird. Even for someone who’s just become a werewolf. And I couldn’t help but notice that Alana looks an awful lot like me.” 

“What are you implying?”

“Are you – is she supposed to be some kind of a substitute for me?” Her voice was kind, but Stiles recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“That would kind of imply that I actually had you in my life, don’t you think? Why would I need a substitute for something I’ve never had?”

Lydia sighed, stepping back from him. “I’m not trying to be mean. You always have me as a friend, if you ever need to talk. You know that right?” She peered at him, as if she were trying to figure something out. “Stiles, have you – has anything out of the ordinary happened to you lately?”

“You mean aside from killing Peter? Becoming a frigging alpha werewolf?” His eyes glazed over a bit as he added, “Meeting the most amazing creature on the planet?”

“Uh, right. Just – remember what I said. If you need to talk about anything – call me. Okay?” She turned and walked back down the stairs, pausing once to look back at Stiles before continuing on her way.

After Lydia and Jackson left, the others didn’t stick around very long, either. Before leaving with Erica, though, Boyd tried reasoning with Stiles.

“Look, man, are you really sure we’re doing the right thing here? I mean, we’re all for helping people who need us, we really are. But . . . something just isn’t right about this. And what chance do we have if the Carlisles attack us head on?”

Stiles interrupted him, asking bluntly, “What, are you afraid?” and _seriously_ , where the hell did that come from? Stiles liked the quiet beta, and he certainly didn’t question his bravery.

Boyd stood up straighter, the only evidence on his face of how much Stiles had offended him was the yellow flash of his eyes. “Afraid of dying while trying to free someone from torture? No. Afraid of dying because you have a stupid crush on a girl you just met? Yeah.”

He took a step toward Erica, who put her arm protectively around his waist.

“You’re the alpha now, and there’s a learning curve, we get that. Derek’s behind you a hundred percent, we get that too. Just – think this through and make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons before we all risk our lives.”

With that, he and Erica turned and left, leaving Stiles alone with Derek in the silence.

 _Derek’s behind you a hundred percent._ Somehow those words pierced through the shroud that Stiles hadn’t even noticed surrounding his brain. He was so deeply touched by Derek’s loyalty to him that he almost couldn’t breathe. He turned to the older man, who was leaning up against the wall, staring at him.

“You know there’s a way to greatly enhance our odds here.” There was a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Stiles couldn’t tell for sure what it was, exactly, but it made his stomach feel like it was filled with lead and wrapped in iron. He wanted Derek, wanted to go to him and hold him, wanted to mate and bond with him. But he also wanted love, and he knew that wasn’t an option. Derek didn’t love him.

“I agree. You need to teach me how to fight.” The words were shocking to Stiles, even as they left his mouth. He wasn’t trying to be obstinate, but the unexpected rush of emotion he’d felt for Derek had been replaced by an urgent need to understand hand to hand combat. Derek had more fighting experience than anyone else Stiles knew.

Derek closed his eyes and sighed. “Stiles – you wouldn’t need me to teach you. You’d just _know_. You’d understand how to use your body as a weapon, how to defend yourself, how to read an attack. You’d have my memories, my experience, as if it were coming from your own brain.”

And there it was again, that tugging feeling on his brain, like he was still trying to see through a dirty window, but maybe the curtain had been drawn back a bit. Derek’s voice was soft and inviting, and god he looked beautiful standing there in his tight black jeans and olive colored v neck shirt. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes filled with . . .

 _No. Mating with Derek was not the answer_. It was almost like an actual voice in his head, warning him off. “Just spar with me, Derek. I need the experience if I’m going to help Alana.”

“ _Help Alana_ ,” Derek repeated angrily, then punched Stiles square in the jaw.

“ _What the hell_?” he demanded furiously as he stumbled backward, feeling his jaw bone working its way back into the tmj joint where it belonged, as if it had a mind of its own.

“You need to be able to take a punch, it’s part of fighting.” He swung at him again, but Stiles was ready this time, and ducked out of the way. They attacked each other, and Stiles held nothing back. He beat the crap out of Stiles, until he wolfed out and instinctively tore into Derek, slicing his claws across his chest. Derek stumbled back, grabbing the bleeding wound. The coppery smell of Derek’s blood, _his beta’s_ blood, drawn by _him_ , had the effect of turning Stiles' anger off like he’d flipped a switch.

He was an alpha. He could seriously hurt Derek or any of the others. “Oh my god,” he said softly, reaching for Derek.  Derek shook him off.

“That’s another reason you need my help. You have no control! You were a disaster waiting to happen when you were _human_ , and _now-”_

“And how much help will _you_ be if I overpower you in the process?” the new alpha responded angrily. “You said there was a chance I could make you comatose.”

Derek’s face was unreadable. The blood from his wound was oozing through his fingers. “I think it’s a chance we need to take.”

“So to you, mating, and bonding with me, for _life_ , is a _chance we need to take?_ ” _Damn_ , that stung. “Yeah, great. How about no?”

“Stiles -” he began.

“Get out!”

“I _live_ here!”

“Fine!” Stiles replied, flustered. He turned from the still bleeding werewolf and left the loft.

XOXOXO

The entire pack congregated about 10 miles from Beacon Hills, where Stiles had directed them. They stood in front of an abandoned looking old house.  The dilapidated building sat near the edge of a grove of trees with weeds climbing up onto the porch.  An old metal windmill creaked in the overgrown front yard.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Jackson sneered.

“Probably inside. Keep your voice down!” Stiles hissed. He looked around at each of them, his eyes stopping on Derek’s chest before quickly looking up to meet his gaze.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he growled.

Stiles walked around to the side of the house, until he located four stairs leading down to a basement entrance. He gestured for everyone to follow him as he opened the door.

Once inside, Stiles and the others found themselves in a large musty cavern instead of a basement.

“What _is_ this? Where is everybody?” whispered Erica. 

“I don’t know,” Boyd answered. “I don’t even hear any –"

An echoing boom cut him off, and they were submerged in total darkness, before a shaft of light angled in from above. Stiles spun toward it, relieved to see Alana appearing through the doorway at the top of a staircase.

“Alana!” he called, “What’s going on? Where is your pack?”

His relief turned to horror when over a dozen people appeared from behind them, cutting off their only path of escape and disarming the humans.

“Just in time,” she drawled, as another wolf appeared behind her. “Aren’t they _adorable_?” she cooed to him.

The other werewolf, who easily stood six and a half feet tall, smirked at her before turning to Stiles. His fangs were easily the sharpest, longest teeth Stiles had ever seen. His eyes glowed fiery red, and he was even more muscular than Derek, which Stiles hadn’t even known was _possible_.

Speaking of Derek, he had moved in front of Stiles protectively, growling low in his throat, claws extended.

“I don’t know, they’re kind of . . . _puny_. But they’ll do for our purposes. We’ll just breed them with some of our larger wolves. ”

“ _Breed_ us?” Stiles repeated numbly. “Alana, what’s he talking about? What about – all the stuff you said, I thought your pack was in trouble?”

The redhead laughed. “You really are adorable. You’re completely worthless as an alpha, but we’ll work around that, too. I’m quite certain we can learn _something_ from you before we kill you.”

Derek leapt up the stairs at them, ready to tear their throats out. The giant alpha casually pushed Alana out of harm’s way before crouching down to meet the oncoming attack.

It was short lived.

It ended with Derek lying crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, deep scratches on his furry cheek from the opposing alpha’s claws, limbs sprawled in unnatural angles. Stiles rushed over to him, kneeling down next to him, fingers gingerly touching the matted, bloody fur on his face.  

“Well, well, well, I think you’ve angered his mate!” Alana teased.

“What are you doing? I trusted you,” Stiles said softly, ignoring the ‘mate’ remark, because obviously she was wrong in _that_ regard. “How could you betray us all like this? I felt like I _knew_ you.”

“Yes, an especially useful spell, that one. And a great recruiting tool.  You see, we’re building an army.  We’re tired of hiding from humans.  We’re tired of being hunted. We’re going to increase our numbers and do something about it. Your little pack is going to help us.”

The giant alpha was moving down the stairs toward Stiles and Derek. Stiles got between the two of them and looked over toward the rest of his pack.

They were all being herded to a dark, shadowy part of the cavern. They acted dazed, as if unaware that they were being kidnapped.

“Scott!” he yelled frantically, but his friend just kept walking, not even paying attention to _Allison_.

The alpha was suddenly inches from Stiles, laughing. 

“He can’t _hear_ you, none of them can.” The werewolf smirked.  Again. That seemed to be his thing. “They’re under an obedience spell.  We haven’t managed to perfect it well enough for it to work on alphas, but we have other ways of getting you to do what we want.” He glanced down at Derek, unconscious on the floor at his feet, then smiled back at Stiles.  “By the way, we haven’t been properly introduced.  I’m Dallen Carlisle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this may end up being a bit longer story than I originally planned . . .


	5. Captivity

Stiles awoke to find himself seated in a horrifically uncomfortable large wooden chair, which was situated near the front of an elevated platform, almost like a stage.  Looking around warily, he discovered the room had no windows. It smelled dank and musty; they must still be underground.  Dim light cast shadows all around the room. He heard a steadily thumping heart pounding behind him and Derek’s beating below him. 

At the sound of Derek in front of him, Stiles instinctively tried to leap from the chair, to go to him.  Strong hands immediately pushed him down into his seat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a female voice instructed cheerfully.

Stiles angrily pushed her hands away, but stayed seated in the chair. Suddenly a spotlight lit up the floor, and Stiles’ eyes widened in horror as he whispered, “Derek?”

“The chair you’re sitting in is pressure sensitive,” Alana continued, directing her attention at Stiles. “Once weight comes off the seat, that pulley is triggered.” She gestured to a device near Derek.  “It will pull up on the chain attached to your boyfriend’s collar and he’ll strangle right in front of you.”

She said this nonchalantly, as if threatening to kill people with archaic devices was an every day occurrence for her. Because, yeah, it probably was.

Stiles’ eyes focused on Derek.  He was on his knees facing Stiles. The collar she’d mentioned was wrapped tightly around his neck, with a thick chain attached to it. The chain led up into the pulley system. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was shirtless. Stiles saw angry slashes across his chest where he’d been whipped, and he wasn’t healing. Stiles shifted in his chair, desperate to get to Derek. He gritted out, “don’t move,” and Stiles froze.  

The claw marks on his face weren’t healing either; these people obviously knew what they were doing. They knew how to get what they wanted, and they knew how to play people. And Stiles had played his part to perfection.

He’d basically served the entire pack up on a silver platter. The fear and shame and self-loathing bubbled up in him like lava about to burst from a volcano. All of his friends were in danger because of him.

 _Scott_ was in danger.

And Derek – what if Derek had been right? What if they could have prevented this all in the first place by bonding?  What if they all died because of Stiles’ selfish desire for love from Derek? His need to be in a relationship because it meant something, not because it was necessary?

“You might as well settle in,” Alana told Stiles as she walked in front of him. “You’re going to be with us for a long time.” She leaned in to caress his face, knowing he wouldn’t make a move against her. “Aw, don’t look so guilty. It’s _heartbreaking._ Alphas far greater and more powerful than you have fallen at my feet.” Looking down at Derek, she added, “Although, I must say, we have a totally unique treatment in mind for the two of you. But, first things first. Sadly, I must leave you to check on your friends. But don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough.”

She disappeared in a whirlwind of creepy smiles and unspoken threats. Stiles was convinced he was going to vomit. Once she was gone, he tried unsuccessfully to make eye contact with Derek.

Derek only glowered at the floor, tugging unsuccessfully at his restraints.

“Just say it already,” Stiles grumbled.

Derek’s head snapped up when Stiles’ voice suddenly broke the dreary silence.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, carefully looking past Stiles.

“Whatever it is that you’re thinking about me. That everyone is going to end up getting killed because I trusted a stranger. That I put a girl ahead of the pack and now everyone is going to suffer.”

“ _I’m_ hardly the one to judge you for making _that_ mistake,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Kate Argent had done more or less the same thing to Derek that was happening to him now. He was being used against the people he loved.

“Oh my god,” he muttered weakly.

“Stiles. You have to save them.” Derek stared up at him, his hazel green eyes finally meeting Stiles’ brown ones.

“Oh,” he said sarcastically, “Okay, I’ll get right on that. Just let me finish my Red Bull and eat a few cookies and finish this wave so I can level up!”

“Stiles, they don’t expect you to try to rescue the others. It gives you an edge.”

“They don’t expect me to rescue the others,” Stiles said slowly, “because if I get up you’re going to die!”

“I’m willing to make the sacrifice, Stiles, if it means getting you a chance to get out of here and save the pack!”

“Well, it’s not a sacrifice that I’m willing to make!”

“Stiles!” Derek huffed, “there’s no time for this! Whatever they’re planning to do to the others, they’re not gonna wait around! It’s the only choice we have!”

“No,” Stiles said softly, “it isn’t. Bond with me.”

Derek drew in a breath. “That’s going to be a little difficult since I’m nowhere close to you.” He hesitated. “Besides, it’s not what you want.”

“I think we’re a little beyond worrying about what I want,” he said, more sharply than he intended. The truth was, he _did_ want it, and he felt sick to his stomach knowing that he was going to do it under these circumstances.  “I have a plan. You have to bite my neck to initiate the bond, right?”

“Yes. But again. _I’m a little tied up at the moment._ ”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“You just did.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Look, they have to let me out of this chair sometime, right? Trust me, Derek. And be ready.”

XOXOXOXO

The hours passed by endlessly. Alana didn’t return, and Stiles conjured up all sorts of horrible images of what might be happening to his friends while he and Derek sat waiting.  He was hungry, he wasn’t actually sure when he had last eaten. He wondered if anyone had missed any of them yet; someone had to be looking for them: Allison’s parents maybe, or Jackson’s family. But it didn’t matter, there was no way they would look out here. They were literally in the middle of nowhere.  And even if someone found them, what chance would they have against the Carlisle pack? Unless they brought the National Guard with them, a scenario which Stiles deemed highly unlikely.

Derek’s head suddenly snapped up and looked toward the door; Stiles thought he’d been asleep.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Someone’s coming,” Derek answered.

A few seconds later, a beta grunt came through the door with a tray of food. He sat it down next to Stiles’ chair on the floor.  He turned to leave without saying a word, but Stiles grabbed his arm.

“Hey! I need to use the bathroom.”

The young wolf looked uncertain. “I’m just supposed to drop the food off and not say a word to you.  I don’t think I can-“

“Please, dude, I have to _go_. I’ve been sitting here all day.  You know I’m not going to try anything when my - mate is right there.” Stiles stuttered a little over the “m” word, but he must have been convincing, because the guy sighed and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Okay, I guess you won’t hurt nothin’.”

He released a lever under the chair, and gestured for Stiles to follow him.

Now was his chance.

He leapt off the platform, pretending to fall into Derek.  It had to look like he’d tripped, he didn’t want to draw suspicion toward what he was doing.

The young beta turned toward him, his mouth forming a surprised “o” shape as he watched Stiles flail onto Derek.

As soon as he was close enough, Derek sunk his fangs into Stiles’ neck, biting and claiming him as his mate.

The difficult part was yet to come.


	6. The Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles feels the effects of Derek's bite when they take on some of the enemy pack . . . Derek tells him there's more to the ritual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning-brief graphic description of hand to hand combat. Sorry this update has taken months! There's probably going to be two more chapters, or one more chapter and an epilogue. We'll see how things work themselves out :)

Chapter 6

Biting

Derek’s bite felt different from the bite Peter gave him. It was definitely different from when he himself bit Derek. The difference, he supposed, must be intent. He felt the burning energy of golden magic coursing through him, opening pathways that quickly filled up with, well, Derek. Stiles felt Derek’s thoughts. His feelings. His memories, oh god, his terrible, terrible memories. Stiles’ mind and soul were becoming overwhelmed. In the space of just a few seconds, Derek filled him, encompassed him, _attached_ to him. He found a place, hidden in Derek’s psyche, which was full of love. Love for his pack, his dead family, and buried very deeply, love for Stiles.

“Stiles!” The word sounded muffled. Stiles ignored it as dark colors spread across his field of vision. Derek’s loss, love and sadness, anger and pain, all spread through him, threatening to consume him with their intensity.

 _“Stiles!”_ Something cracked against his head, bringing him fully back to consciousness.

He stepped back in shock. “You head-butted me! Why did you _head-butt_ me? Hey!”

The food server from the Carlisle pack had recovered his senses and wrapped his hands around Stiles’ neck.

 _Forward,_ Derek told him, and Stiles dragged his opponent closer to Derek, who bit him savagely.

He cried out in anger and pain, giving Stiles the precious seconds he needed to free himself. Strength and rage rushed through him like water released from a dam. Stiles thrust his palm upward under the enemy wolf’s chin and broke his neck. He recoiled a bit at what he’d done, but quickly recovered and removed the ring of keys from the belt of the unmoving man lying crumpled on the floor. He began sorting through the keys, trying to find the one which would release Derek.

“Hurry!” Derek urged. “It won’t take long for them to figure out something’s wrong. And we’re . . . not done yet.”

Stiles, after giving Derek a dirty look, finally found the key to release him. As the locks clicked open, Derek ripped the collar from around his neck and rose quickly to his feet.

Stiles put his hands on Derek’s shoulders, looking him up one side and down the other.

“I’m fine, Stiles!” he said, irritated. “Listen, there’s more that we have to do and not much time. The bond is only partially formed. You need to bite me back in order to fully-”

The door burst open and three of the Carlisles burst in. Derek immediately directed Stiles’ attention to each weakness he noticed as he sized up their attackers, with lightening quick speed, without even using words. Stiles felt his eyes being directed to what Derek saw, and Derek’s thoughts were in his mind, as if they were his own. _The one on the left is favoring his right side, just slightly. He must have gotten hurt recently. He’ll be vulnerable. The middle one, he looks afraid, must be new. It’s the one on the right we need to focus on . . ._

With Derek by his side, Stiles leapt across the room. The battle hardened wolf sliced his claws across Stiles’ chest, inadvertently knocking him backward and giving Derek the room he needed to swipe his leg around and behind their enemy, dropping him. Roaring furiously in his face, Derek managed to slam his head against the floor repeatedly until he fell unconscious. Meanwhile, Stiles, his cuts already knitting themselves back together, went for the weak leg of the boy on the left (he couldn’t have been much over 13 years old.), and kicked his knee in forcefully enough to smash it into the opposite direction from what it should have been in. The kid landed with a hysterical, howling yelp as the bones in his leg crunched in awkward angles.

His companion turned and fled. Stiles moved to go after him, but Derek gripped his arm. _Let him go. He won’t return to the rest of the pack. He’ll flee in fear for his life. If the Carlisles found out he was a coward, they’d kill him themselves._

Stiles surveyed the damage. “So, that was a little too easy? And awesome! Definitely awesome. Why was that so easy?”

_Because you’re feeding off my energy and experience. Plus, they underestimated us. It won’t happen again. We have to be ready._

It was at this point that Stiles realized Derek was talking to him without saying anything out loud.

“Hey, how are you doing that? And how did I fight like that? How did I know what you were going to do?”

_Stiles, this is nothing. We haven’t even finished the ritual yet. You need to bite me back to complete the circle. And then we have to consummate it._

“Consummate it? Well hey, maybe we can find a broom closet.” His voice positively _oozed_ sarcasm. “Have you forgotten our _entire pack_ has been attacked with zombie-creating magic and are probably being converted into mindless, compliant minions at this very moment while we stand here doing nothing?”

Stiles took a deep breath and looked around anxiously at the room that was no longer their prison, but not exactly freedom, either. Three unconscious bodies lay on the floor. The wooden door, which was painted to blend in with the wall when closed, stood wide open, giving him a view of the dark, dilapidated house they were currently stuck in.

Derek grabbed Stiles by the shirt, scrunching the material up in his fist, finally speaking out loud, his face almost touching Stiles’. “That’s why we need to get on with this! Bite my neck. Right now. See your thoughts and feelings as physical objects and project them into me.”

“How in the hell do I do that?” Stiles asked, exasperated.

“You can do it. Use your instincts. Concentrate.”

Stiles ran a hand through his unruly hair and looked at Derek, really, truly looked into his eyes, and all hesitation and nervousness disappeared like early morning fog as the summer morning sun rises.

He leaned in and bit Derek.

He concentrated on everything that was inside of him; his loss, his love for Scott, his overwhelming need to protect the pack,  the dreadful emptiness he’d felt every single day since the death of each of his parents. He focused on his fear of failing as the alpha, his fear of losing any of his friends to the monsters they were about to face.

He accidentally thought about how hot it was to be biting Derek’s neck.  He felt Derek’s pleasure at that.

Leaning back, he gently touched the wound he’d inflicted. Derek’s eyes were closed and he dropped to his knees. The intimate moment ended quickly, however, when they heard Allison’s bloodcurdling scream. Both of them whipped their heads around at the same time, toward the source of the sound.  She wasn’t far away.  Looking at each other with silent understanding and agreement, they raced out of the room to save her.


	7. The sacrifice that really wasn't one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think I'm going to get this finished it just gets longer . . . anyway hope you enjoy what happens . . . there will be more to come!

The smell hit him even before the sound the man made as he loafed toward Stiles. Stiles and Derek had just entered the hallway after escaping from their holding area. Stiles wrinkled up his nose at the assault on his senses.

“What even _is_ that? Did you roll around in garbage or something?” he asked incredulously.

The oaf just looked at him and grinned, and Stiles noticed he was holding a very large, gleaming knife.

“Really?” he asked. Derek growled behind him. Then several things happened at once.

The guy from the Carlisle pack lunged. Derek tried to move in front of Stiles, but Stiles anticipated it through their connection and shoved him away, rebalanced himself, then kicked the dude straight in the stomach with the ball of his foot. He came at him again and this time aimed lower, and his opponent fell to his knees. Derek stepped in, sneaking by Stiles this time, and knocked the guy out with a punch to the temple.

Stiles looked over their handiwork.

“Someone who smells that bad shouldn’t be conscious anyway.” Derek muttered. “Let’s find the others and get the hell out of here.”

XOXOXO

It took a bit of exploring, because the basement was a complicated mess of hallways and caverns and rooms leading nowhere. There was no more screaming to guide them; wherever Allison had been (if it was even her they heard screaming), she was long gone now. The place was utterly silent, although they both could feel the presence of dozens of people. Although it was mostly dark, Stiles’ new werewolf senses picked up every variation in the limited light.  He saw shadows where there was barely enough light to produce them. And then he saw a ring.

It was the ring Boyd had given Erica, a small silver band with a pearl in it. Stiles stopped to pick it up off the ground where it had fallen next to the wall. She had left them a breadcrumb to follow. He held it out to Derek, who nodded silently and pointed ahead.  They started sprinting down the hall. The hall ended abruptly and stone walls and a bumpy floor replaced it: they had entered some kind of cave. It opened up into a vast cavern where dozens if not hundreds of witches and werewolves stood motionlessly, seemingly staring into space.

Stiles looked around frantically for his packmates.  He found them easily enough, clustered together in the middle. They all had the same dazed, slightly stoned look on their faces.  They almost looked _happy_.

Stiles and Derek, wary of the lack of obvious guards, carefully crept down to where their friends were currently standing. Stiles stopped in front of Scott.

“Dude, we gotta go,” Stiles said, grabbing his shoulder.

Scott was unresponsive.

Derek got a similar response from Erica and Boyd. They seemed perfectly content to just keep standing there, staring at nothing, waiting for someone to come and direct them.

Stiles murmured to Derek, “Alana said she used an obedience spell. What do you know about that kind of magic?”

“Not much. Peter mentioned it once, a long time ago.  It’s used to hold people in thrall until the spellcaster is ready to use them for other purposes. It makes them highly susceptible to doing anything they’re told.”

Stiles waved his hand in front of Scott again. Scott’s eyes followed Stiles’ fingers, then zoned back out again.

“Did he say anything about how to get people _out_ of thrall?”

Derek sighed. “He wasn’t really given to sharing _useful_ information, Stiles.”

Out of frustration, hope, desperation, or a combination of all three, Stiles slapped Scott. Scott appeared startled, then seemed to look Stiles right in the face. He stared for a minute, then zoned back out.

“Dude, did you see that?” Stiles asked, suddenly coming to an understanding.

“See what?”

“It was like I surprised him enough that he came to for a minute.”

Derek raised his eyebrow, then walked over and slapped Boyd.  Boyd reached up and rubbed his face, looking confused, before returning to his Zombie stare.

Stiles looked hopefully at Derek. “I think we need to do something to violently grab their attention.  Something that will snap them back into reality.  I mean it’s like they almost came to the surface and then sunk back down. We need to do something that gets their attention enough that we can get them to break through the spell’s barrier and back into reality.”

“Well if we hit them any harder we’ll knock them unconscious.”

 “Kind of not the effect we’re going for,” Stiles said. “But I’ve done so many outrageous things, I can’t really think of anything else that will shock Scott.”

“I can think of a way to get _all_ of them to focus their attention on us.”

“Good because this is seriously freaking me out! I mean look at Scott’s eyes he- OH. you mean. _OH._ You mean THAT.” He met Derek’s gaze and raked a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah I guess we should. I mean we shouldn’t put it off any longer-“

His sentiment was cut short as Derek threw him up against the nearest wall and hungrily attacked his mouth. As he ravaged him with his tongue, Stiles vaguely heard growling off in the distance. He realized it was coming from his own throat.

Derek’s hands were everywhere, grabbing and pulling his hair, reaching down the front of his pants, pulling them down and pushing him into the wall. Stiles decided on the spot that supernatural-creature-sex was _awesome_. And apparently he had a biting kink because _god please more of that, yes_. He reached up and pushed Derek’s face into his shoulder, his left hand fisting into his hair, his right reaching around to grab Derek’s incredibly tight ass through the soft fabric of his jeans.

Derek’s hand was grasping his dick and squeezing rhythmically, and Stiles couldn’t help the sounds of absolute awe and pleasure that were coming from his mouth.

“I. Thought. We. Had. To. OOOOhhh,” he managed.

Derek nipped at his lip. “This will do for now. We can do the rest in a less, uh, public forum.”

God how quickly Stiles forgot. He looked over Derek’s shoulder at his friends, who were still silent, still staring off into space, but starting to fidget uncomfortably. Maybe this was actually working.

“I think. We need. A little more. Action.” Stiles breathed in time with the motion of Derek’s hand.

“Hm. You don’t think this is working?” How the hell could even Derek fucking Hale keep a straight face at a time like this? He continued vigorously stroking Stiles, turning his wrist so he could free his thumb to work at the sensitive slit of Stiles’ dick. Stiles’ eyes rolled back in his head.

“Derek, I”

“I know, I’m in your head, remember?”

And with that, he got down on his knees and took Stiles into his mouth all the way.  Stiles moaned, completely forgetting they were in enemy territory, not thinking at all about the danger they were in, not caring about anything but what was going on about three feet south of his brain.

He felt Derek’s warm, not quite smooth tongue working under him, pressing him into the roof of his mouth, and the noises he made were not human, not even _werewolf_. He reached his hands into Derek’s hair, stroking down across his face, feeling the movement of himself in Derek’s cheeks.

“Fuck, Derek, if I’d known you could do this, aahhhhh,” he said before losing his ability to speak. He came down the back of Derek’s tongue, and Derek swallowed, _he fucking swallowed all of it_ , and Stiles sank boneless into a pile on the floor.

It was good timing.

“Please tell me I’m still under a spell and did not just witness what I think I just witnessed,” came Scott’s aggrieved voice. Lydia and Erica gave each other knowing looks, and Boyd tried to look interested in the back of Jackson’s head.

“If you two douchebags are finished, we need to get the hell out of here.” Jackson stared at them, looking more pissed off than usual.

“I guess it worked?” Stiles said, smirking at Derek.

Derek, looking remarkably calm, grabbed Stiles and pulled his pants back around his waist.  “He’s right. We need to go.”

 

 

 


	8. the end and the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemy pack gets what's coming to them, and Stiles and Derek get what's coming to them . . .  
> TW for very brief description of violence. Also bottom!Derek.

Boyd was the first to point out the obvious. “What about all the others? Look around, man, there must be hundreds of werewolf zombies here. We can’t just leave them.”

Stiles, trying furiously to shake off the afterglow and focus, finally noticed that the rest of the captives were unmoved by his and Derek’s display. He looked at his pack with a mixture of apology and worry. “I don’t know enough about magic to break this kind of spell. And I don’t know what to do that would shock them awake like what we were able to do with you guys.”

“You didn’t shock us awake,” grumbled Jackson. “More like scarred us for life. I, for one, will _never_ un-see that.”

Derek, looking gloomy and contemplative all at once, said quietly, “if we can kill the spell-caster, the magic will have no continuity, and it will dissipate.”

Scott glanced over at Stiles. “How are those superpowers coming along?”

Stiles looked briefly at each of his betas. “Guys, look. I know this whole thing is new and awkward. But we are smart. And we are tough. And we are strong. We can send these guys back to whatever hole they crawled out of. I know we can. We have to.”

It was Lydia, standing with her back to the wall and twirling a long strand of hair in her fingers, who asked the obvious. “What if they use magic on us again?”

 _They’ll almost certainly try,_ Derek thought into Stiles’ mind. The sudden sound of footsteps rushing toward them from above nearly sent Stiles into a panic. Derek immediately sensed his unrest and sent showers of blue, cool calm into his mind. It gave Stiles the clarity he needed to command his troops. He turned to Lydia. “Last time we didn’t know it was coming. This time if you see the slightest hint that someone’s casting, do whatever it takes to stop them. Let’s move.”

Slightly embarrassed by the golden waves of pride radiating from Derek (even though no one else could see them), Stiles ran toward their captors, teeth lengthening into fangs and eyes blazing red as he focused on saving his friends. His family. His pack. As the opposing wolves ran into the room, they flinched slightly when they saw Stiles. This was not the helpless, weak alpha they’d brought in.

He heard Alana mumble, _oh shit_ , right before he sliced the arteries in her neck with his claws and left her to bleed out. Dallen, mortified by Alana’s sudden demise, was no match for Derek, who took him down in seconds. With the sudden, unexpected death of the two leaders, the rest of the Carlisle pack fell apart like old, brittle paper in a two hundred year old book. As Derek had promised, the spells holding the other captives in thrall fell away with the death of the spell-casters. One by one, the other captured weres and witches came to, realized where they were, and joined in the fight. Within minutes, the once great and feared Carlisle pack was reduced to a pile of dead bodies.

Looking around to assess the health of his pack, Stiles saw Lydia wiping blood from a swollen lip, the result of a minor injury caused by flying debris. Scott, Erica, Boyd, Jackson . . . all were standing over recent kills, grinning and out of breath. Derek was right next to him, having barely left his side. And Allison, _shit, where the hell was Allison_?

A loud thud from the other direction made him swing around toward the noise. There stood Allison, large board in hand, having just clocked a straggling Carlisle in the head. He fell to the floor, unmoving. She looked up at Stiles and nodded. With his pack accounted for, Stiles looked around at the recently woken survivors. They still seemed a little dazed. Lydia broke the awkward silence.

“We’re gonna need a lot of wolfs bane.”

XOXOXO

It took a few days for the pack, with the help of their many new and extremely grateful allies, to clean up the Carlisle mess. Stiles didn’t even have time to realize or notice how naturally he fell into the alpha role. He just knew what to do. He knew how to direct the pack to make the most of their abilities. He understood Scott in ways he never had before, and felt closer to him than ever. And Derek – Derek was now a part of his mind, body and soul that was now as natural to him as breathing air. And possibly as necessary. Their private intimacy was so intense it was indescribable. There could no longer be any mistaking their absolute desire to be with each other.

And the sex . . .

When everything finally settled down, their new-found allies having returned to their own territories, and their own pack _finally_ leaving the loft, Derek and Stiles wasted to time. Stiles ripped off Derek’s clothes with such quickness and neat efficiency that Derek barely realized it was happening. As much as Stiles wanted to look at Derek’s beautiful face, he pushed him to the floor with an ‘uf’.

Stiles glided his tongue in soft whispers, dancing around Derek’s hole. Derek growled at the teasing, demanding to be fulfilled. Stiles, as desperate as he was to enter Derek, refused to give in that easily. Derek’s growls turned to moaning and eventually begging as Stiles moved his tongue in deeper . . . deeper. “For fuck’s sake, Stiles, do it! Fucking do it already! Fucking _spear_ me or so help me I will rip your throat out with my teeth!”

Stiles withdrew his tongue, slowly, unable to resist biting into Derek’s firm, salty ass for good measure. Straddling Derek’s legs, Stiles quickly jerked himself off; it didn’t take long, what with Derek’s writhing ass directly in front of him. Sweeping his own cum onto his fingers, he lubed Derek’s hole with the warm, slippery mess oozing out of his own dick. “Oh my god, Stiles, you’re so fucking warm,” Derek moaned as Stiles stuck his third finger in. Gently he stroked his fingers in and out, until Derek pounded his fists into the floor.

“Stiles!”

Eyes half shut, lopsided grin on his pleased face, and still aroused enough to poke a hole through the mesh of a lacrosse stick, Stiles slid it in. Moaning with every thrust, Stiles fucked him more and more forcefully, until finally hitting the spot that caused Derek to scream his name in three different octaves. Finally he pulled out and collapsed on top of Derek, a sweaty, sticky mess between them.

Exhausted as he was, as calm as he had ever felt with Derek’s essence gently mingling with his, he still had to say it out loud. “You know that I am totally, utterly in love with you, right? That this whole mating-bonding thing was something I desperately wanted?”

Derek turned his head lazily and glanced over his shoulder at Stiles with one eye. “Then why did you protest so much? Did you enjoy torturing me?”

Stiles looked at him with mock horror. “I would never do that without your consent.”

Derek snorted. “I’m serious.”

Stiles sighed. “I just, I didn’t want to do it because we had to. I didn’t want to cheapen it.”

Derek pushed off the ground, rolling over to sit up, with Stiles neatly moving off of him to sit facing him. “Stiles . . . it couldn’t have worked if the feelings weren’t there. On both sides. There’s no such thing as a fake mating bond.”

And with that pronouncement, Derek pinned his new alpha to the ground and began round two.

**Author's Note:**

> My plan is to update this about every 4-5 days, I have the whole thing in my head but, you know. Let me know if there's something you like or don't like or that you want to see . . . no promises but I'm flexible.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Unbeta-d, because I'm impatient, so any and all mistakes are exclusively mine!


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